


Lighter fluid

by unhappy_matt



Series: Behind Bars [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse of Power, Character Study, Guard/Prisoner - Freeform, Implied Violence, Implied abuse, Introspection, M/M, Obsession, Original Slash, Power Dynamics, Prison, Stalking, prison whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27716189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unhappy_matt/pseuds/unhappy_matt
Summary: Former 'troubled kid' Jun Swell struggles to adapt to his new life in prison, where he's quickly discovering he's far from the toughest person around.Officer Connor Evans develops an increasing fascination for the inmate who has been clashing with him since their first encounter.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Behind Bars [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027204
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This installment is part of a series called "Behind Bars". Additional information about the story and the characters will be available in the collection's notes. 
> 
> -
> 
> After using ao3 for almost four years, this is my first time finding the courage to post any of my original writing.  
> I'm both very excited and extremely nervous.  
> I thought I'd give this a try. I wanted to try pushing myself out of the comfort zone that is sharing my fanfiction; I thought this story might be fitting for the Archive because it falls under the whump & original slash genres, and employs many of the tropes and aesthetics of TV shows. 
> 
> This is a story and a set of characters that I've been reworking and coming back to a lot over the years. I've been having fun developing this current iteration, and I hope it may be enjoyable to someone else as well. :)

It had been raining since the early afternoon, a heavy, steady downpour accompanied by a sharp drop in temperature. Occasional bursts of thunder made the neon lights flicker in their metal cages, creating shaky reflections on the plastic surface of the long tables.

The cafeteria had the same bleak colors that were present everywhere else in the building—grey floors and grey walls, and that white light that pummeled into his brain and built up a headache behind his eyelids.

In his spot near the door, Connor leaned against the wall slightly and crossed his arms.

The rumble of steps, voices, chairs being moved started to quiet down after the third shouted warning from his colleague. Connor kept silent, for the moment, sticking to the sideline. He would step in, if something more substantial started to happen. He hadn’t seen a real brawl in a few days.

The last remaining inmates in line found their seats, carrying their trays. Connor glanced at the clock on the wall on his left.

Slow day. Lots of paperwork, nothing remarkable going on. His shift ended at midnight, and so far the evening had been a fucking _bore_. His throat ached for a cigarette.

He let his gaze wander across the hall until he located the familiar figure he had been admiring until just a few moments earlier. Excitement thrummed under his skin.

There he was— _Tadashi_. Connor rolled the syllables on his tongue, savoring the birth name that the inmate had tried to leave behind. Knowing that Swell wouldn’t want him to use it only made Connor like it more.

Swell was sitting by himself, in a corner at the end of one of the tables. The seat in front of him was empty.

By his right side, three other inmates were absorbed in a conversation that didn’t appear to include him.

Swell’s head was bowed, his eyes seemingly fixed on his tray. Locks of messily chopped hair fell around his face like a curtain, shadowing his features. The longer strands were still a faded orange-red, his natural dark brown strikingly visible at the roots. That had been the handiwork of Connor’s colleagues, the result of a punitive expedition on Connor’s orders, after Swell had mouthed off at him one time too many.

Swell wasn’t eating. He kept his arms near his sides, his elbows neatly tucked in. He kept poking at his food, pushing it around on the plate.

A grin tugged at the corners of Connor’s mouth. He couldn’t blame him, really—the mushy scrambled eggs and colorless mashed potatoes wouldn’t look that appealing to him, either.

Swell moved, lifting a pale hand to grab his glass and take a sip of water. He wasn’t sitting far from the door; Connor was in his line of vision. All Swell had to do was look up, and their eyes would meet; but Swell’s gaze remained glued to the table. With his shoulders slightly hunched, there was a rigidity to his posture. When he moved again to set his glass down and take a forkful of food, Connor caught a glimpse of the bruise darkening his right cheek.

Not every mark on Swell’s body was Connor’s work—credit had to be given where it was due. But that one was.

Other souvenirs—more private—were Connor’s, too.

Swell looked like the portrait of someone who was trying his hardest to mind his business, go by unnoticed, and stay out of trouble. Someone who had taken hits, and scrubbed shit off the toilets’ floors on his hands and knees, and who was desperately trying to stay on his best behavior.

Connor knew better than to fall for it. Maybe Swell was truly trying to be a good boy; but he wasn’t _broken_.

He would be able to fool some of Connor’s colleagues, maybe. And maybe a few of them would eventually learn the hard way not to underestimate that particular inmate. Connor wasn’t fooled.

If Swell was shrinking himself to appear as unremarkable as possible, it was to hide that energy—that anger—the _fire_ that Connor had seen in him since the first time they’d met.

That flame wasn’t gone, no. It would take more than what Swell had gone through to extinguish it.

All the better for Connor, then, than what they both had in front of them was plenty of _time_.

Dinner went on relatively smoothly. Connor continue to watch over the hall. In his seat, Jun kept eating quietly, taking apart small pieces of bread.

Connor could envision him in high school, sitting like that by himself, in a completely different environment. Had he been a loner then?

No, Connor found that hard to believe. Swell must have had his circle, _the wrong crowd_ , friends involved in various kinds of shady shit. The files he had been able to browse pointed to the picture of a _problem kid_ who had been getting into trouble since his early teens, for stuff like smoking and cutting classes. He’d gotten suspensions and he’d changed schools a bunch of times since he was about thirteen, fourteen, before finally landing into a juvenile facility for six months over school property damage.

Swell’s poor decisions and the people he hanged around with had led him where he was now, and from the look of it, most of his friends seemed to have been more than happy to hang him out to dry. The only one who had never stopped showing up religiously, month after month, was Swell’s little boyfriend, Ethan.

Connor tilted his head, watching as Swell stabbed at his eggs with the fork.

He would have liked to see more of what he was like _before_ , outside. He had seen a few pictures of him from high school, where he didn’t look too different from the way he had on his arrival. Shoulder-length hair dyed a bright flaming red, heavy black makeup, piercings, neon-colored contacts, and all the reckless cockiness of a kid who thought himself _tough_.

A striking difference from the pale, bare-faced young man who now sat with his eyes low, all proper and well-behaved like he was in church.

Connor shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suppressing a shiver of restless impatience. Swell was close—but not close enough. Right there, a few feet away, he was still out of Connor’s reach.

Time for that to change.

-

Jun’s fingers clenched around the plastic fork. The knot in his stomach wouldn’t loosen. Without looking, he knew—Evans was staring at him.

He had been lucky, over the last few days. Evans had taken a couple days off, and Jun had been able to dodge him when he was on duty, most of the time. A few glares, a lingering touch, filthy compliments whispered in Jun’s ear as Jun passed him by in the corridor, but nothing beyond that.

It had been sheer luck and nothing more, Jun knew. Evans wasn’t the type to give up something he wanted.

No, Evans was a predatory animal, a shark. If Jun had been able to escape him for a while, it wasn’t because Evans was slowing down—it was just a matter of opportunity.

Jun took a bite of his unsavory food and shot a quick look in the officer’s direction. He turned his eyes away just as quickly, his heart pounding in his chest. Had Evans noticed? He wasn’t sure.

As Jun continued to eat, Evans was always there, standing in that same spot. His attention remained fixed on Jun with disturbing intensity.

Jun stole another glance at the officer, who had turned to murmur something to his colleague, Rogers.

When Evans turned again, for the briefest moment, their eyes finally met.

Evans tilted head slightly—and for a brief instant, maybe a trick of the lights, the trace of a smile seemed to appear on his face.

Jun’s fork fell into the pale yellow mass of scrambled eggs with a soft squelching sound.

He looked away. He was shaking so hard that surely everyone at the table must sense it too—someone would nudge him and tell him to fucking quit it—no. Nobody else was paying any attention to him.

Shame coursed like fire through Jun’s veins over his own reaction.

 _Before_ , outside, he had never felt like this. Not when he got into fistfights with another drug dealer, or with some asshole from another gang who decided to get confrontational. Not when he raced at breakneck speed at one of the underground circuits where he and Ethan used to go. He had savored adrenaline, and anger, and pride. Not _fear_.

He’d done his stint in juvie. He’d thought he could handle whatever would happen; that _time_ was the only thing against him, the emptiness, the boredom.

That was only part of it, it turned out.

Jun stared at his half-eaten food. That fucking smile on Evans’ face wouldn’t leave his mind.

He’d had his share of encounters with teachers and counselors, with cops and guards. He knew Evans’ type; the kind of piece of shit who couldn’t wait to use any miserable shred of power they could get their hands on, like they had something to prove. He could picture Evans as a bully on a schoolyard, with that same smug grin on his face, beating up the smaller kids.

Or maybe he’d been the kid getting beaten up on the regular, when he was younger and weaker, made fun of for thick glasses or an ugly retainer or hand-me-down clothes.

Maybe this was revenge, now that he could.

Or maybe things in real life were rarely so linear. It was tempting to look for an easy story that could explain it all.

Maybe there wasn’t a simple answer to what had made Evans what he was.

Jun shivered.

Out there, he had always fought back. Evans wasn’t the first who had patted Jun down and slipped a hand under his clothes, squeezed his ass, or pressed him into a wall to tell him how he was going to fuck him.

Now Evans was the first who had gotten way past _that_.

The usual alarm rang, signaling the end of the thirty minutes at their disposal. Meal times usually passed quickly for the inmates, focused to get as much food as possible while they could, or busy with underhanded exchanges. One by one, the chairs were emptied as each row went to return their trays.

Evans’ eyes followed Jun as he rose from his seat, his plates still half-full. The edges of the tray swayed in Jun’s clenched fingers.

He bit his tongue until it hurt.

Outside, another explosion of thunder seemed to shake down the very foundations of the building.

It was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

Connor downed a sip of the coffee Greene had just brought him. It was burning hot, with an aftertaste of the creamer Connor had specifically requested not to add. His fingers sank into the paper cup, threatening to spill its content. The newbie had fucked up his order, but Connor didn’t feel like chewing him out. _Patience_. What he was really after was something else, _somebody_ else.

After dinner, many of the inmates had moved to the common room. There, a dozen of them were crowded around the old TV. Only a few channels worked, crackling with static.

Reruns of some old telenovela were on, capturing the bored eyes of men who had little else to pass the time. Other inmates were playing cards, sitting around the few tables available. Others were in the gym, or back to their cells.

Tonight, Swell had joined the crowd of those who were watching _Whispers of the heart_ , although he kept to himself, as he had during dinner. His back was a straight line, tightly pressed against the backrest of his chair. A strip of his nape peeked between his hair and the collar of his orange shirt.

Connor finished his coffee and threw the crumpled up cup in one of the cans. He made his way through the room slowly, approaching until he could lean against one of the columns, where he could comfortably continue to observe.

Swell hadn’t made friends in there, not really. Connor had made sure of it; other prisoners didn’t take kindly to someone they thought was a snitch or a whore, someone suspected of opening his mouth for the officers one way or the other.

He’d had to mark his territory, working to turn Swell into an untouchable before somebody else among the inmates could claim him. Now Tadashi was alone, and Connor was sure he understood just how much.

Recently they’d assigned Swell a new cellmate, Delgado, a Puerto Rican guy in his mid-forties. They seemed to get along well enough; Swell knew a little bit of Spanish. Delgado had a teenage daughter and Swell had his two little sisters, and Connor had overheard them exchange a few words about their families.

It was _boring_. He’d thought maybe he could create the conditions for Swell to start a fight, to do _something_. Connor hadn’t been able to find himself alone with him for a while. He could always come up with some pretext, of course; but he liked the idea of Swell getting himself into trouble on his own. The kid had a way of always managing to make his own situation worse.

An ache crept up in Connor’s body, building up slowly in his throat, like thirst or hunger. He moved a little bit along the wall.

His hand went to his baton, shielded in its case. He curled his fingers around the handle, his knuckles tensing.

The light bounced off of Jun’s irregularly cut hair. Even the ugly orange uniform couldn’t conceal his body, now that Connor had seen him naked. Jun was slender, with broad shoulders and narrow hips and a firm ass. Fuck, Swell was hot, he was fucking sexy, and even his beat-up appearance couldn’t downplay it.

Connor wasn’t the only one to notice—but for now, he was the only one who got to enjoy all that. He’d gone to great lengths to ensure that ownership.

It wasn’t so often that he found an inmate attractive, but from time to time a few ones had crossed his path. 

In the past, at his previous posts, he had taken a few liberties when someone happened to catch his eye; often the newcomers, the ones who were still adapting to a new environment. Especially if it was their first serious conviction, or if they didn’t speak much English.

His approach had been careful, back then, more subtle: hitting someone just a little harder and longer than what was strictly necessary to subdue him, a few broken fingers or a kick to the groin. When the opportunity had presented itself, a _deep_ search than went on for just a little too long, enough to make them wonder if it was normal, to see the blood drain from their faces as they realized it wasn’t.

And if someone thought they could go and complain, well. What were they going to do about it? 

Looks weren’t what interested him the most, though. His favorite part was the _thrill_. He had made adult men scream and cry under his hands; men far bigger and more dangerous than a kid like Swell. Men who would have killed Connor, if they’d met in the outside world, in the streets; but not in there, where he was the one who was armed and walking free and they were _nothing_ , not even people anymore.

It was the power, and it was intoxicating. Every time it was a rush. 

Those had been fleeting contacts, faces and names he didn’t even remember.

Nobody had ever captured his attention quite like Tadashi Swell.

Tadashi. _Jun_.

Connor licked his lips. His mouth was dry.

What was about Swell that made him so special? He was barely more than a schoolboy; young and angry and reckless, not that different from countless others Connor had seen over the years. Plenty of stories like Swell's; often with worse families, lives that bloomed and wilted in Dumpster Fire, Nowhere, USA.

If Swell had been luckier than that, smarter than that, they never would have met.

And yet.

There was something different about him, something that had reeled Connor in from the first moment they’d met. Jun was so full of anger and hate, so desperate to fight and survive. He was delicate, too. Vulnerable. There was a dignity to him, even as Connor had watched him endure kicks and punches and humiliation. 

It was his eyes, those dark eyes that had left a mark in Connor’s head like a branding iron.

That angry stare made Connor want to break him. Jun wouldn’t go down without a fight, though, he would never make it easy for him. Jun was what Connor had been waiting for.

There were two kinds of prisoners, Connor had come to learn.

The first were the ones who were in for the long haul. Rapists, murderers, the ones who were looking at decades in the cage; a life sentence even when it wasn’t officially one.

With many of them, the golden rule was to look the other way; allow their exchanges and their plots, make mutually beneficial deals, and keep a careful distance. The population inside a prison was a web of dynamics suspended in a delicate, ever-changing balance; and Connor had cultivated a sense for recognizing the changing of the tides, and adapting accordingly.

Then there were the ones who had received lighter sentences, a few months or a few years. They had the prospect of a life to return to, someday, if they could make it out alive; a relationship, a family, going back to school, maybe finding whatever shitty job would take rejects like them. Those were the ones who still had something to lose; and Swell happened to be a part of them.

Swell had his family. His petite mother with a stern face who came to visit but didn’t hug him, and who refused to bring the boy’s little sisters to the facility.

He had his boyfriend, _angel face_ , the chubby guy with curly hair and a bright smile who spoke to Swell in soft, hushed tones.

Jun missed them, Connor could see that he did. It brought him down, day after day, being kept away from them. Connor found a subtle, gripping pleasure in watching when Jun faced his boyfriend and couldn’t even bring himself to look him in the eye. Not after all the lovely quality time Connor had taken with him.

A commercial came on the screen, ripping Connor from his thoughts as chatter among the inmates rose through the silence.

Swell stood up, pressing a hand to the backrest of his chair. He rubbed his forearm, curved inward on himself like he was cold.

He looked up. He stilled, frozen, staring straight in Connor’s direction.

Connor gestured at Swell, slowly, with a small nod of his chin.

Slipping into the relentless calm of a hunting trip in the woods on a cold November morning, Connor smiled.

Later, he would pull him aside, right after the inmates were lined up for their nightly count.


End file.
